Of Soulmates and Super-Soldiers
by Zathara001
Summary: In this conclusion to the In Extremis trilogy, while hunting for the Mandarin, Captain America finds his soulmate.
1. Chapter 1

CONTINUITY NOTE: Takes place in the lull between seasons 1 and 2 of _Agents of SHIELD_ and after _Captain America: The Winter Soldier._ This is the third part of the (very) loose trilogy begun with _In Extremis Veritas_ and followed by _Strange Bondfellows_. You don't have to have read either of the prior two stories, but I certainly won't object if you do.

DISCLAIMER: It should be blindingly obvious, but I don't own anything to do with any of the characters herein - Disney/Marvel does. If they should want anything of this story, it's hereby given to them.

For all the differences the twenty-first century had brought, Steve Rogers thought, the process of war hadn't changed much: find the enemy's strongholds, invade them, salvage what intelligence you could and destroy the rest. Oddly enough, even the enemy hadn't changed - it had just gone underground.

Today's target was a Hydra base – in Austria, and Steve wondered that it had gone undetected since the war – that had been the headquarters for some of their biogenetics programs, according to Brock Rumlow. Rumlow was Natasha Romanoff's soulmate, but he'd also been Hydra, and he'd tried to kill Steve more than once.

So Steve had been on edge since his team had arrived, half-expecting that Hydra would have set a trap for them, despite Rumlow's assurances that it had been abandoned after the fall of SHIELD.

"Decoys," Rumlow had said. "Decentralization. Every base that could be found from Nat's data dump is gone. There are others. Lots of others. But, even abandoned, this one might have the information you're looking for."

So now Steve led his team through the base to sweep for any of the enemy that might have remained behind. Having Rumlow at his back still sent shivers down his spine, but he'd promised Natasha he'd give her soulmate a chance to redeem himself, and Steve always kept his promises.

The corridors of this underground facility were dim, lit only by emergency lighting, so Steve strained his other senses for any signs of movement ahead. He rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a woman dressed all in black that matched her hair.

Asian, he thought, and then was instinctively blocking the kick she aimed at his midsection. He struck back, and then her eyes widened and she jumped back, holding her hands in the air.

"I'm sorry, Captain Rogers," she said.

He settled into a ready stance, still alert. "For?"

Her mouth twitched in a half-smile that reminded him of Natasha. "For not recognizing the insignia sooner. I'm Melinda May, deputy director of SHIELD."

"SHIELD's gone," Steve said, but even as he said it, he wondered whether it was true. Fury had survived, after all, and he hadn't wanted to bring SHIELD down in the first place, only yielding to Steve's determination when Maria Hill nodded her agreement.

"SHIELD's necessary," the woman - Melinda May - said. "And now that you've rid it of its Hydra infestation, we can get back to doing what needs to be done."

"And what is that, exactly?" Steve asked.

"Right now?" May shrugged. "Finding and eradicating the last bits of Project Centipede."

Steve studied her. She didn't seem to be lying, but he'd worked with Natasha Romanoff long enough to know that not everyone gave off obvious signals when they lied. For the briefest of moments, Steve wished he could call Fury, confirm this woman was who she claimed to be, but Fury was in the wind.

"Why are you here?" May asked, her tone more curious than challenging, and Steve debated whether to tell her.

"Clear, Cap. Security system's offline." The voice behind him was Rumlow's. Steve didn't turn as the other man came around the corner, halting beside him. Rumlow had worn a balaclava in order to avoid being recognized if any Hydra agents happened still to be on site or any security cameras might remain functional.

"Well, well," Rumlow said, shoving the balaclava up to expose his face. "The cavalry's here."

Before Steve could react, Melinda May had drawn her sidearm and aimed it at Rumlow. "Don't call me that, traitor."

"Don't shoot my soulmate, Melinda." That was Natasha's voice – coming from behind the other woman.

Steve couldn't help smiling, just a little, when May flinched. At least he wasn't the only one Natasha could sneak up on. Still, he had to ask, "You know her?"

"I do," Natasha said, and May lowered her weapon.

"He's really your soulmate?" May asked her.

"For my sins," Natasha replied, and Rumlow snorted.

Slowly, May returned her sidearm to its holster. "Quite a team," she said to Steve. "What's going on?"

"That's a long story," Steve said. Both Natasha and Rumlow recognized and seemed comfortable with Melinda May, and that eased his own concerns. "The short version is that the Ten Rings terrorist organization might be collaborating with Hydra."

May touched her ear – unnecessary, Steve knew, but a polite signal that someone else was here – and listened for a moment before saying, "We'll be right there."

"She's got a hacker with her," Natasha said. "In the command center."

"This way," May said, and Steve and Rumlow fell into step behind the two women.

Walking beside a teammate should have felt more comfortable than it did, Steve reflected. How many times had he and Bucky, or any of the other Howling Commandos, done just this sort of sweep? But he'd trusted Bucky and the others with his life. He'd done that with Rumlow, once, and as much as he believed in second chances, Steve was having trouble trusting Rumlow that way again.

So they walked in relative silence through the tunnels. Ahead and to the left, Steve saw a slash of light spilling into the corridor.

"We have guests, Skye," May said as she led them into the room. The light was harsh after the dim corridors, and Steve blinked against it.

When his eyes had adjusted, Steve saw the room was full of what had once been a bank of computers. They'd been shot up or blown up, and most of the chairs from the workstations were still haphazardly on the floor.

"Right, Black Widow, met her." The voice came from a woman with dark hair spilling past her shoulders. She hadn't turned from her focus on the computer where she sat. "Told her you're my SO and she left me alone."

"A couple of others, too," May said drily, and now the woman – Skye – turned, and Steve felt his breath catch.

She wasn't beautiful by the standards he'd been accustomed to, but there was intelligence in her dark eyes and she had a friendly enough expression, given the circumstances.

"Brock Rumlow, formerly of STRIKE," May made the introduction tactfully enough, but the glare she directed at Rumlow suggested she'd still be as happy to kill him as not.

"Hi," Skye said, and Rumlow just nodded.

"And I trust you're familiar with Captain Rogers."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Steve said, pleased that his voice had worked properly, and then he wondered if he'd said something wrong, somehow, because she simply stared at him.

"Skye?" May prompted.

"Sorry," Skye said to her, then focused on Steve and added, "I'm just not used to meeting someone I've written a term paper about."

Steve's breath caught for an entirely different reason, and he replayed the words in his mind. Yes, Skye had said the words in his soulmark. She hadn't reacted to his words at all, though, and Steve winced when he remembered what he'd said. Of course she hadn't reacted to such ordinary words – she'd probably heard them a hundred times in her life. He'd have to confirm the words with her later, Steve decided, and refocused on the moment.

"You can be star-struck later," May was saying. "What have you found?"

"Some contacts with a Ciprian Mitrea." Skye turned back to the keyboard. "A few emails, mostly corrupted, but what I've deciphered suggests Mitrea wasn't affiliated with Hydra directly. It looks like he might be involved with some terrorist organization."

Steve flicked a startled glance at Natasha, and she met his gaze with a grim expression.

"Can you find a picture of him?" Natasha asked.

"Give me a minute," Skye responded, and for a minute or more the only sound in the room was the tapping of keys. Then, "There, got it."

"Download it to me," Natasha said, and gave the address.

"Done," Skye responded, and it was Natasha's turn to tap keys – this time on her smartphone.

Steve's and Rumlow's phone dinged with an incoming message a half-second later. Steve thumbed his, saw that Natasha had sent a simple text to him, Rumlow, Bucky, and Pepper Potts: _Recognize this man?_

Bucky's response came almost immediately: _Nope_.

Pepper's followed less than a minute later: _He was the "doctor" who held me in Ruse._

"We need to find him," Steve said.

"Why?" May's sharp question echoed off the concrete walls.

"He's part of the Ten Rings terrorist group," Steve told her. "And he kidnapped Pepper Potts not long ago because she's the only person who survived being injected with the Extremis virus."

May exchanged a glance with Skye. Both women wore concerned expressions.

"What?" Rumlow asked.

"Extremis was one of the components of the Centipede serum," May said.

"Which was?" Steve prompted.

"An attempt to give people super-powers," May answered. Her mouth twitched again. "You started a trend, Captain Rogers."

"More that Dr. Erskine did," Steve muttered. For all that he was grateful for the formula and what it had enabled him to do, both in the past and in the modern day, sometimes Steve wished that particular genie had never been allowed outside its bottle.

"According to Pepper," Natasha said, "Ten Rings was looking for something to use to save the Mandarin's life. Would the Centipede serum do that?"

"If anyone figured out how to stabilize it, yes," Skye said. "As it is, people who receive it tend to explode if they stop receiving it."

"Just like Extremis," Natasha murmured.

"How did Ms. Potts survive?" May asked.

"Stark and Banner fixed it," Steve said. He looked at Skye – his soulmate – and said, "Can you use facial recognition to find this Ciprian Mitrea?"

"Without all of SHIELD's resources, it'll take a while," Skye said. "Unless you can narrow down the search to something smaller than the whole world."

"He was in Ruse, Bulgaria, five days ago," Natasha said. "That's when we got Pepper back. He must have left as we arrived because Barnes didn't see him at the house where she was held."

"That's narrow," Skye said, and turned back to the computer to work.

Now that he'd recovered from the shock of meeting his soulmate, Steve saw that Skye was actually working at a laptop she'd connected to the remnants of the computers here. Her fingers flew over the keys with confidence, and even from this angle, he could see that her eyebrows had knit together in concentration.

Then there was the briefest of touches at his forearm and he glanced down into Natasha's knowing smirk.

He shook his head, briefly, and counted more on her reading his lips than actually speaking when he whispered, "Don't need help with this."

Her smirk became a smile, but thankfully Skye turned before Natasha could speak.

"There we go," Skye said after a few minutes. "I've uploaded the image, and set the search parameters. It's scanning all the surveillance feeds at airports, train and bus stations in Ruse and all the connecting cities. It could be a while."

"Thank you," Steve said. From the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha exchanging a glance with Rumlow.

"If we're gonna be hanging out here a while," Rumlow said, "want to get something to eat?"

Skye stared at him. "You're thinking about food?"

Rumlow grinned at her. "First rule of field assignments of undetermined length. Never pass up a chance to eat, sleep, or piss. Never know when the next one's coming."

"Or other things," Natasha murmured.

"Or other things," Rumlow agreed. "Guaranteed a base this size has a chow hall, and probably a fair amount of food stores left, too, given they got out of here in a hurry. I make a mean omelet."

"Come on, Melinda," Natasha said, and there was the barest hint of threat in her tone when she added, "you can tell me all about the new SHIELD."

Skye watched them go, then turned to Steve. "Should we be worried this is going to go bad in a way that results in blood or broken bones?"

Given the parties involved, it was a valid question. Steve considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I think Nat's just annoyed she doesn't actually know everything."

She was also, Steve thought, giving him time alone with an attractive woman - and one he'd actively expressed an interest in. He owed her thanks for that, and he was just petty enough - in a very small, very dark corner of his soul - to look forward to Natasha's expression when she found out Skye was his soulmate.

"Good," Skye said, bringing Steve back to the moment. "I mean, if it were anyone else, I wouldn't even be worried. But this is the Black Widow, and her soulmate was STRIKE. May might have her hands full."

"Rumlow said something about a cavalry?"

"Don't call her that," Skye said. "She hates it."

"Why would I call her that?"

"You don't know? I thought everyone in SHIELD knew that story."

"I wasn't in SHIELD very long - and I was catching up on half a century of progress."

"How's that working for you?" The words might be saucy, but the tone was genuinely curious.

"As well as anyone could expect," Steve said, and was surprised to find it was true. "I've been reading modern history, but it's not the same as living it – any part of it, really. And I have a list of things people have said I need to be familiar with."

"A list?" Skye sounded curious. "What's on it?"

"Lots of things," Steve said. " _Star Trek_ and _Star Wars_ , Thai food, Nirvana –"

He broke off when Skye made a derisive sound. "What?"

"Nirvana? Really?" She shook her head. "Okay, I'll grant you that _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ is okay. Even good. But the only reason anyone cares about any other of their songs is that Kurt Cobain died young."

"Is that so?"

"It's a pattern. Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Buddy Holly, Jimi Hendrix – all of them revered way out of proportion to their actual talent, just because they died young. Not to say they didn't do good music, sometimes, but not enough to justify the worship."

"I'll have to add all of them to the list." Steve couldn't help smiling. It was a relief to know his soulmate wasn't like some of the computer types he'd met at SHIELD – completely comfortable with computers and equally uncomfortable with the rest of life.

"Not until you've heard some that are actually good."

"Who would you recommend?"

Skye grinned. "I'll give you a list."

Steve laughed. "Please do." Then he sobered. Better to get it out of the way now, he thought. "I have a question for you."

"What's that?"

"Does your soulmark read, _Pleasure to meet you, ma'am_?"

Her stunned expression was all the answer he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Does your soulmark read, _Pleasure to meet you, ma'am_?"

It was a simple question, and one that Skye really should be able to answer, but her brain seemed to be stuck bouncing between _Captain America can't really be my soulmate, can he?_ And _What did I do in a previous life to deserve this?_

"Skye?" he prompted, and she shook her head, hard, forcing herself to find words to reply.

"Yes," she said. Then she remembered what she'd said to him and winced. "And yours have to do with term papers. Sorry about that."

"Don't be," the Captain said. "They're distinctive. If anything, I should apologize because mine to you were plain and ordinary."

He hesitated, then said, "Skye's a pretty name. It suits you."

"I like it a lot better than my legal name." And why had she blurted that, to Captain America, her _soulmate_ , of all people? Would he let it drop?

"Which is?"

She should have known he wouldn't. "Embarrassing."

"I won't laugh, I promise." Steve sounded sincere, and she wanted to believe him. Still, her legal name wasn't something she broadcast.

Then again, he was her soulmate. He'd learn it sooner or later, so Skye might as well get it over with now.

"Mary Sue Poots."

Skye exhaled the words more than actually said them, but she knew Steve heard them anyway, thanks to serum-enhanced senses.

"Thank you for telling me," he said solemnly, and Skye gave him a relieved smile. He didn't hate her name, didn't make fun of it, and that was more than she'd ever hoped from anyone, even her soulmate.

"You already know all about me," Steve added in that same serious tone. "Tell me a little about you?"

"There's not much to tell," Skye said. "I'm a foundling. Survived the orphanage, taught myself coding and hacking, hacked into SHIELD, and here I am."

Steve quirked an eyebrow at her. "Any one of those things could fill a whole book."

Skye shrugged. "I don't think so, but even if they all did, that still wouldn't come close to how many have been written about you."

"That's a shame," he said, and she looked up at him, frowning.

"Why?"

He gave a half-shrug, obviously embarrassed that he'd spoken aloud. "A lotta other guys did as much or more with fewer advantages than I had. They're the ones that should be in the books."

"They are," Skye said. "And not just the Howling Commandos, either. But you're not just a soldier, you're a symbol. People like symbols."

"Sometimes too much," he said, and there was a regret in his tone that made Skye frown. Before she could ask him about it, he shook off whatever sudden mood had taken him and said, "Any idea how long the search will take?"

"As long as it takes," Skye said ruefully. "Longer than it would have without SHIELD's resources."

"SHIELD's not completely without resources," Steve pointed out. "I just met a deputy director, which implies that there's a director and that there are others to direct."

"That's true," Skye had to admit. "But we lost access to satellites and other data. It's slowed everything down."

Steve nodded acknowledgment, but seemed to have nothing to say in response. Just as Skye was beginning to feel awkward, he gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I wasn't very good with women back in my day, and today I just feel more awkward."

"It's probably not helping that we met under these circumstances."

"Probably not," Steve agreed. He paused, then said, "Would you object if we focused on the mission?"

"I'm a SHIELD agent, Captain," Skye said gently. "I get it that the mission comes first. We'll go out for coffee or something after."

"We're soulmates. You can call me Steve." There was a twinkle in his eyes when he said it, and Skye had to laugh.

"You've been Captain America my whole life. I'll get used to it sooner or later."

"Sooner, I hope." His smile was genuine, warm and honest, and Skye allowed herself to enjoy it the way she hadn't enjoyed any man's smile since that duplicitous traitor, Ward, had betrayed them all.

No, Skye wasn't going to think of Ward anymore. He was safely imprisoned where he couldn't hurt anyone again, and she had found her soulmate, Steve.

"Steve." She tested the word, decided she liked the way it felt when she said it.

"Skye."

She looked up at him, curious, then when she saw his gentle smile, decided he had simply wanted to say her name as she'd said his.

She smiled back, then said, "Does that guy really make good omelets?"

"Nat says so."

"You haven't had one?"

"No."

"Then let's go find out."

#

Steve knew they were in the right place as the smell of toast and coffee drifted through the door to the mess. He gestured Skye to precede him, and it took more will than he'd expected not to rest a hand at her back. But they'd agreed to focus on the mission, and Steve knew if he touched her, he'd forget the mission completely.

"Hey, smells good," Skye called. Rumlow was just visible behind a pass-through to the kitchen, and he looked up with a grin.

"Hard to fuck up toast and coffee," he said. "Reserve judgment until the frittata's done."

"You found eggs?" Skye crossed to the coffeemaker, poured herself a cup, and glanced at Steve. "Coffee?"

"Yes, thanks, black is fine."

"Egg substitute," Rumlow said in answer to Skye's question. "And some freeze-dried fillings."

"Freeze dried?" Steve asked. "I thought this was a functioning base."

"It was. But you never know when power might go out, or you might have to go to ground for a few days or weeks."

"Oh, God," Skye said. "Hydra were Boy Scouts, always prepared?"

"That's the Girl Scouts' motto, too," May said. "And not a bad one to live by, regardless."

Steve murmured a thanks as he took the coffee Skye offered and sat at the table with Natasha and May.

Natasha was giving Steve an appraising look. To anyone else, he thought, she was just glancing at him to acknowledge his arrival, but he'd seen her working before, and that was definitely a working appraisal.

Steve met her gaze with as much equanimity as he could manage, even knowing that it was probably a wasted effort. Natasha would know something had happened between him and Skye, but she'd assume it was just an attraction. He'd tell her the truth later, when they had a moment alone.

Natasha nodded, though Steve had no idea what she might mean by the gesture, and then turned back to her conversation with Agent May, which his soulmate was listening to intently.

Steve respected her for that – she had the opportunity to learn from two of the best agents SHIELD ever had, and she'd be foolish to waste it. That these two agents were also women, and therefore far more cognizant of issues specific to female agents than he'd ever be, was surely icing on the cake. That left Steve to eat in silence or to try to make conversation with Rumlow. He wasn't sure which one was the better option.

"Here you go, Cap," Rumlow slid a plate in front of him, and Steve murmured a thanks, noting that Rumlow had already served the women.

He'd promised Natasha that he'd give Rumlow a chance to redeem himself. Choosing to eat the meal Rumlow put in front of him was a step toward that goal. He took a bite of the frittata, found it surprisingly tasty for being made of freeze-dried vegetables and egg substitute, and said so.

"Brock's family has a restaurant in Queens," Natasha said, interrupting her conversation with May and Skye. "If you like Italian, you should try it."

"Guess the talent for cooking runs in the -" Skye broke off when her phone beeped. "Got a hit."

Minutes later, Steve stood beside Skye in the command center, the others gathered around them, watching as she called up the information she'd found.

"He made several flights over the last couple of days," Skye said. "Looks like he used a couple of aliases, but the facial recognition doesn't lie."

"Where did he end up?" Steve asked.

"Ternopil?" Skye sounded out the word.

"Ternopil," Natasha said. "In Ukraine. That fits with what Barnes and I heard in Novosibirsk, that Ten Rings wants to build an empire from the Black Sea to the Baltic."

"Romanian national," Skye continued. "Graduated St. Petersburg State Medical Academy fifteen years ago, then was on staff at several hospitals throughout Russia and Romania, most recently Alba Iulia Emergency County Hospital until December last year."

"Since December?" Steve asked.

"Traveling," Skye said absently, scanning through the data almost as quickly as it appeared on her screen. "St. Petersburg, California, Bucharest, and now Ternopil."

"What's in Ternopil?" Steve frowned at the display, as if he could will it to make sense just by staring at it.

"Almost a quarter million people," Natasha said. "And it's a center of Ukrainian national revival movements."

"Ternopil State Medical University," Skye added. "Where it looks like they're doing some cutting edge research into genetic manipulation. And -"

"And?" May prompted when Skye paused, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

"And a couple of familiar names on staff." Skye looked up at May. "Take a look."

Steve watched May's expression shift from curiosity to concern. "Those are Centipede people on staff."

"Think Mitrea's gone there for another shot at something that might cure the Mandarin?" Rumlow asked.

"I think we can't ignore the possibility," Steve said. "Looks like we're off to Ternopil."

Not that he was looking forward to abandoning his soulmate practically the moment he'd found her, Steve thought. But they'd agreed their respective missions had to come first. He'd find a way to grab a couple of minutes with her before he left, exchange contact information, and contact her when he got back from Ukraine.

"Go with them, Skye," May said suddenly.

"What?" Skye asked.

"Go with them," May repeated. "I'll get a dose of QNB-T16 for you to take with you."

"I don't speak Russian," Skye said. "And DC –"

"Natasha speaks Russian." Steve and Rumlow spoke at the same time and Steve found himself exchanging a wry half-smile with a man who'd tried to kill him more than once.

"I'll clear it with the director," May said firmly. "You know the questions to ask about Centipede."

Skye glanced from May to Steve, and then straightened her shoulders, just a little. "Okay."

"Consider it a field practical exercise," May told her, and if she'd meant that to be reassuring, Steve thought it wasn't.

Rumlow was looking at May with a curious expression. "You're her SO?"

"Now. Her first SO was Hydra."

Rumlow didn't rise to the bait, if bait it was. "You want an eval? If not from me, from Nat?"

Skye squeaked, and then looked surprised that that noise had come from her. May's severe expression twitched, just a little, into a hint of a smile.

"From both of you," May said, and Steve fought a smile at Skye's expression, caught somewhere between pride and terror. Then May looked at him. "And you, Captain, if you will."

"I can't." The response was automatic, but no less true because of it.

Steve flicked a questioning glance at Skye, and she swallowed once, then nodded. From the corner of his eye, Steve caught Rumlow's frown and saw Natasha looking curiously interested.

"I understand that you weren't with SHIELD long, and while you were, you were mostly on field assignments," May began, "but surely you -"

"We're soulmates."

It was the simple truth, but the words fell into silence like a well. Then Natasha was smiling, an honest smile. "Guess I'll stop trying to find you dates now."

May was studying Skye. "And what would you have done if I hadn't assigned you to go with them?"

"Finished our mission," Skye answered. "Let them finish theirs. Exchange numbers so we can keep in touch."

"Your idea or his?"

"Ours." Skye included Steve with a glance. "Missions are important. We both get that."

May nodded in approval and Steve said, "Are you changing your orders, ma'am?"

"No, Captain. It's still an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, and we won't waste it."


	3. Chapter 3

Skye followed Steve and the others into the quinjet, still not entirely certain she believed what was happening. She was going into the field with the Avengers - or, more accurately, two Avengers and a STRIKE operative - and not just any Avengers but the Black Widow herself and Captain America, who also just happened to be her soulmate.

Jemma would freak when Skye told her about this.

"Off to Ternopil," Rumlow said as he slid into the pilot's seat.

"We've got this, Steve," The Black Widow slid into the seat next to his. "Just a short hop, won't take long."

"I'll fly back," Steve said, and it wasn't an offer.

"Absolutely," Black Widow said.

Steve gestured Skye to a seat, and sat next to her.

"What's that about?" she asked.

"I've been learning to fly," Steve said. "In between missions. I've got the minimum hours, but that's it."

"You mean you couldn't?" Skye stared at him. "But - the _Valkyrie_ -"

"It's not that hard to put a plane into a crash dive," Steve said. "Actually getting it into the air and keeping it on course - that's the challenge. But between you and me -" he lowered his voice and leaned in closer "- I think Nat's giving us a chance to talk."

Skye didn't understand why that needed a lowered voice, but she accepted that Steve knew the Black Widow better than she did. "So what do you want to talk about?"

"Will you tell me more about yourself?"

"Like I said, there's not much to tell."

"You said you hacked into SHIELD. Why?"

"Because it was there?"

"SHIELD being the Mount Everest of secret organizations?"

Skye didn't know why she was surprised that he got the reference. Mallory had climbed Everest in the '20s, Steve would surely have heard his famous response at some point.

"They had the secret that mattered the most. And the only chance I might have at getting it was to get inside."

"You set out to betray SHIELD?"

"No, no - I swear." Skye reached out without thinking, resting her hand on Steve's forearm. "Not that kind of secret."

"Then what kind of secret?"

"Who I am." Put that way, Skye reflected, it sounded dramatic. She blew out a breath and continued, "You don't know what it's like not to know your parents, your family, even your _name_. I wanted to find out. I _had_ to find out."

Steve rested his free hand over hers, and only then did she realize she hadn't moved her hand from his forearm.

"In two years of searching, all I could find was one document, one page, a letter from the orphanage with all but about six words redacted. By SHIELD."

"Fury and his damned secrets," Steve muttered.

"All of SHIELD and their damned secrets," Skye corrected. "It's why I joined the Rising Tide, because information should be free - my own name being part of what I wanted to find."

"And you did," Steve said. "You told me your name earlier."

Skye thanked him with a smile. Even though it wasn't likely either Rumlow or the Black Widow could hear them, still he hadn't said her name aloud.

"After I got into SHIELD and realized that some secrets need to be kept. DC was able to find out a little bit more - that I was found in Hunan Province in China by a SHIELD team, who eventually took me to St. Agnes Orphanage in New York."

"They gave you that name," Steve guessed.

"And as soon as I could, I erased every trace of it I could find." Skye was surprised by the vehemence in her own voice. "That's not _me_ , that's not who I'm supposed to be. It's who the nuns wanted me to be. Until I find out the name my parents gave me, I'll keep the name I chose for myself."

Skye hadn't realized she'd gotten so vehement until Steve shifted so he was holding her hand in both of his. She squeezed his tightly. "Sorry."

"For what?" Steve asked lightly. "Everyone should have goals in life."

That made Skye laugh, and even as she did she was surprised to be doing it. Then again, he was surprising her in a lot of ways.

"You're taking it really well."

He gave her a puzzled frown. "Taking what well?"

"Being soulmates with a nobody."

"Well." The grin he gave her was as disarming as it was self-deprecating. "I figure I have more than enough notoriety for both of us."

#

When they landed outside Ternopil, Steve turned to Skye.

"Can you locate Mitrea?"

"Not unless he's wearing one of those microchips people put in their dogs," Skye said, booting up her laptop. "But I can get close."

"Microchips? In a dog?" Steve shook his head.

"It's so they can be returned to their owners if they get lost," Natasha said. "Nothing more diabolical than that."

"Nothing's ever more diabolical than that, at first," Steve countered. "And the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

"You're starting to sound like Fury." Natasha didn't look at him when she said it, instead going to sit by Skye and look over the other woman's shoulder while she searched for Ciprian Mitrea.

Her observation brought Steve up short, and he replayed his words, the entire conversation in his head and had to conclude, however uncomfortable it may have been, that Natasha was right. He blew out a breath, and said, "Fury wasn't wrong about everything."

Natasha caught his gaze with her own. "Few of us are, Steve."

Then her gaze slid sideways toward her soulmate before she focused again on what Skye was doing.

Her message couldn't have been more clear if she'd shouted, and Steve wasn't certain whether to admire her for backing him into a corner or resent her for making a private issue public.

Then again, the part of his mind that insisted on fairness pointed out, they weren't exactly public - and each one of them had a stake in the issue, even if Skye didn't know the full story yet.

Before he could decide how - or whether - to respond, Skye said, "Got him. He's at the - I'm going to screw up the pronunciation - Halychyna Hotel."

"Ternopil could be a jump-off point," Rumlow observed.

"Or Mitrea's moving into the area and needs a place to stay for a few days." There was a joking note in Skye's tone, and Steve smiled to himself. Apparently, God understood his need for someone to balance his serious nature.

 _Of course He did,_ Steve chastised himself. _He's God._

Natasha's voice brought him out of his momentary reverie. "Let's go find out."

Steve was nodding agreement, and then he saw that Natasha was looking at Skye. In turn, Skye was staring back.

"Me?" Skye asked.

"You," Natasha confirmed. She kept her gaze on Skye while she continued, "Steve is about as subtle as a brick, even before he's recognized, and Brock is staying incognito for now."

"Incognito?" Skye frowned. "Why?"

"I was with Hydra," Rumlow answered - just a statement of fact, and Steve had to allow a grudging respect for a man who didn't hide from facts - and just as Skye's expression was shifting with distaste and anger, added, "They weren't wrong about everything."

"The point is," Natasha said, "very few people know he's with me now. As long as he's still considered Hydra, he's the perfect undercover operative."

All of Natasha's points were valid, Steve thought, but Skye hadn't been SHIELD very long, and he was reluctant to send her into an unknown situation.

"Besides," Natasha added, "you know the questions to ask about Centipede. I can oversee your work and report to your SO."

Natasha smiled sweetly first at Skye, then at Steve, and Steve shook his head. No way was he going argue with Natasha on this, however much he might not agree with her decision.

Skye looked from Natasha to Rumlow, then to Steve. "I'm so screwed."

#

Before the fall of SHIELD, Skye would've been thrilled to be working with Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, and not just on a training exercise, but on a real mission. Skye had heard how others spoke of her, the fear and awe in their voices, and seen the respect both Coulson and May had for her, and back when SHIELD was still SHIELD and not a shadowy mirrored version of itself, Skye would have considered working with her - let alone with the commander of the STRIKE team, let even more alone with Captain America - the height of her career at SHIELD, whatever else might come.

Now, though, striding beside the Widow through the streets of Ternopil in a skirt that was too short for the late fall weather and heels that were too high for anyone's comfort, all Skye could think about was getting _warm_ , thank you.

"Slow down," the other woman said, her voice low but still commanding. "Remember our cover."

Skye couldn't help grimacing. It was the oldest cover in the book, but as long as men were men, it would be useful. "I remember."

"Then stop striding, start swaying."

Skye grumbled under her breath, but tried to match her walk to the Widow's.

"Better," the other woman murmured as they turned onto Chumatska Street, the Halychyna Hotel looming not far ahead of them.

"Don't look around," the Widow said just before they reached the lobby. "Head straight for the elevators, at our ten o'clock from the front doors. Just another guest."

Skye tried to do as she was instructed, told herself she'd succeeded when the elevator doors slid shut and the Widow didn't offer any other comment.

Minutes later, they were at the door to room 3120, and the Widow knocked without hesitating. Skye tried to breathe normally.

A male voice shouted from inside in – Russian? Skye assumed it was Russian, since few other languages sounded like a wolf snarling around a bone at the best of times.

The Black Widow responded in the same language, somehow making it sound more seductive than Skye would have thought possible, and moments later, the door opened just a crack. Skye smiled, trying to make it seductive, but that was a skill she'd never had to learn, much less master. She always got information the old-fashioned way – hacking it.

The man spoke again, and the Black Widow answered, first in Russian, then switching to English. "She is learning, yes? You would like to help teach her, I think?"

 _Doesn't mean I want to learn from him._ Skye congratulated herself for not saying the words aloud, and for keeping the smile, however shaky it might have been, on her face.

Then the door opened farther, and Ciprian Mitrea invited them in.

#

Steve had always been uncomfortable observing Natasha when she was working a mark. Even though he knew it was an act, and he had to be ready to act if her cover got blown, he still felt far too much like a voyeur.

This time was worse, because Natasha's soulmate sat next to him in the quinjet, listening with him.

" _She is learning, yes? You would like to help teach her, I think?"_

Steve heard the suggestion, the _promise_ in Natasha's tone more than her words. The kind of promise that should be made between life partners. Steve glanced at the man beside him, and blinked at the smile on Rumlow's face.

"It is a pleasure to watch you work," Rumlow said into the microphone, his words transmitting instantly to the earpieces both Natasha and Skye wore.

Steve stared at him, then slapped the microphone mute button on the quinjet's console. "How can you say that?"

Rumlow frowned in answer. "Only one word with more than one syllable. It wasn't that hard."

"But she's your soulmate," Steve protested. "And you're saying it's a pleasure to watch her seduce another man?"

"I said it's a pleasure to watch her work, and Nat's not seducing him. She just needs to get the two of them into his room."

"That doesn't sound like she's not seducing him," Steve pointed out, and Rumlow barked a laugh.

"True enough," Rumlow admitted. "But listen."

Steve focused on the voices coming from the speaker again, and he heard Skye asking a question about Centipede, and then a male voice, Mitrea's, answering.

"This is work," Rumlow said. "And you know better than I do that Nat's good at what she does."

"She's the best," Steve corrected, and meant it.

"And we've got to let her do what she does best."

"Even if –" Steve broke off.

"Even if," Rumlow said firmly. Then, "I have her soul, Cap. I'm working on earning her trust and her love. I can't do that if I try to cage her."

Steve blew out a breath. He couldn't argue with that, not when the woman in question was Natasha Romanoff, but that didn't mean it sat right with him, either. When he grew up, there were rules, norms for how soulmates interacted. Those rules didn't seem to apply anymore.

 _Or had those rules ever applied to spies?_ Steve had no experience, no ready answer to that question, and he was still mulling it over when Rumlow spoke again.

"Is this about Nat and me, or about you and Skye?"

"What?"

"'Cause if it's about you and Skye, remember this isn't the work she does. She's a hacker, and a good one, not a spy."

"It's not," Steve began, but then stopped. Was it? That he didn't know only bothered him more. "I don't think it is."

"Yeah, well, whichever way it is, remember, soulmate or not, she still gets to make her own decisions. We all do."

"Yes," Steve said, his tone harsher than he'd meant it to be. "And deal with the consequences."

Rumlow shot him a dark look. "I get that you're never going to forgive me. But can we skip the nasty tone while we're working?"

Before Steve could answer, Rumlow turned on the microphone again. Steve scowled at him, but let him have the last word. For now.

#

"He's going to challenge you."

Skye looked at the Black Widow. They'd finished their interrogation and Mitrea was sleeping off the QNB-T16. Now they were heading back toward the quinjet when the observation came from nowhere.

"Who?" Skye asked, grateful that the question came out more curious than challenging. Natasha Romanoff was not someone she wanted to challenge.

The other woman gave her a look that suggested she'd missed the obvious. "Steve."

"He's my soulmate." The answer came reflexively, though on reflection Skye wasn't certain what it was supposed to mean.

"Better you than me." There was humor in her tone, and Skye couldn't help smiling in return. Then she sobered. "But Steve will challenge you. You won't expect it, you may not even realize it's happened until after the fact, but he will."

"How?"

"I have no idea."

"Then how do you know he will?"

"Steve was a good person before Erskine's formula," the Widow said. "And that serum enhanced everything about him, the physical and the mental."

"You're saying he's a saint."

The other woman laughed. "He'd object very strenuously if you called him that. No, he's not a saint. The formula made him _better_ , not _perfect_."

"And that leads to him challenging me how?"

"He'll make you second-guess everything you believe about yourself. He'll make you want to be better than you are."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"Tell me that when it happens."

"Has he challenged you?" Skye had to ask, given the other woman's tone.

"Every day. It's worse because he doesn't realize he's doing it." The Widow was silent for a few steps, then added, "I just wanted you to be prepared."

"Thank you?"

Now Black Widow smiled, more than the upturn of one corner of her mouth. "I'm not sure that you should, but you're welcome."


	4. Chapter 4

"So that's it," Skye concluded the summary of Mitrea's interrogation. "The Mandarin is taking what's probably Centipede, but Mitrea doesn't know where he is. He does know where to find people who know people who know where the Mandarin is."

"Did he give a description of the Mandarin?" Steve asked.

"Not enough for you to do a drawing like you did of Mitrea," Natasha answered from the co-pilot's chair she'd turned to face the interior of the quinjet. "Unless you can extrapolate really well from descriptions of pallid skin, stringy dark hair, and feverish eyes, all of which are overlaid by tubes and wires leading to various medical apparatus."

Steve swore under his breath, wished for a moment that there was room in the quinjet for him to pace. He'd always thought best in motion, and right now he needed to think, to plan, to figure some way to find and stop the Mandarin, once and for all.

The Mandarin would need regular injections of the Centipede formula, Steve knew that much. Which meant that someone would be delivering those to wherever he was hiding – just like he and the Commandos had tracked supply shipments throughout Western Europe during the War.

"Skye, can you track people coming and going from those locations Mitrea gave us?"

"That question has more layers than you might think," she said, which wasn't an answer at all, and Steve looked up at her.

"Explain?"

"He mentioned a bar called The Hammer and Sickle," Skye said. "If it's open from, say, nine in the morning until two in the morning, that's seventeen hours. If it has a hundred customers an hour, that's almost two thousand people to track. I'm not saying it can't be done. I am saying it'll take a long time to match the regulars and the one-offs, and then follow each of them through the traffic cameras, and so on. Mitrea mentioned two other bars, so triple the number of people we'd be following."

"And then cross-referencing the faces from all three to see whether there are patterns in their patronage," Natasha added. "Assuming, of course, that all of the bars have surveillance systems to hack into. In this part of the world, that's not a guarantee."

"Then we're no closer to finding the Mandarin than we were before we found Mitrea." Steve hated to fail in a mission. Failing a mission usually meant someone died.

"Not true."

Rumlow's declaration drew Steve's attention. His former comrade in arms leaned against the pilot's seat, arms crossed loosely over his chest. "Explain."

"This is good intel," Rumlow said. "Now we need to follow up on it the old-fashioned way."

"Torture?" Skye asked, and Steve heard the disapproving note – almost a symphony, in fact – in her question.

Rumlow ignored her. "Boots on the ground. Someone who can get in and get real, up to date information."

Steve found himself nodding. For all that the world had surveillance systems undreamt of when he was a kid, he and the Commandos had brought down a lot of Hydra bases with nothing more than human intelligence analysts.

"I suppose I can –"

"No." The chorus came from three voices, and Steve found himself staring at each of his companions in turn.

"Why no?" he asked.

"You're a terrible liar," Natasha said.

Steve had to admit that was true – or at least, she'd told him that was true, and he believed her. Lying hadn't sat well with him even before Dr. Erskine's formula had changed him forever. Now, he sometimes wondered if he'd even be able to tell a white lie to conceal a surprise.

"And you're too recognizable," Skye added.

"This is Ukraine," Steve said. "I'm not that well known here."

"People recognized Barnes in Russia, and he's had lots less press than you have," Natasha observed.

Steve grimaced. "All right, I'm outnumbered. But you could be recognized too, Nat, after your data dump."

"Which is why I'm not going," Natasha responded easily.

Anger flared through Steve. "If you think I'm sending Skye into a den of -"

Rumlow cut him off. "I'm going."

Steve's response was automatic but still firm. "No."

"You just explained why it has to be me." Rumlow hadn't moved, hadn't even tensed. "Unless you want to call the whole thing off, and leave the threat to Ms. Potts unresolved."

"Unacceptable," Steve said flatly, and it would be unacceptable even if Pepper Potts wasn't his best friend's soulmate.

"Then I'm your best shot," Rumlow said. Steve waited for the explanations, the justifications, but none came. Rumlow just laid the statement bare and waited for Steve's response.

Steve's mind rebelled at the thought of sending Brock Rumlow - a man who'd tried to kill him more than once, who worked for an organization he'd fought during the war and now in the 21st century too, who stood for things he found anathema - on an undercover mission into the heart of a very similar organization when the life of his best friend's soulmate was at stake.

Then he realized that the silence was stretching beyond thoughtful to awkward.

"How am I supposed to let you do that?" he asked.

"Can't answer that, Cap," Rumlow replied. "I can tell you why I'm the right man for the job, but I can't tell you how to let me do the job. Not that I need your permission."

And there it was – the challenge Steve had been expecting since Natasha had introduced Rumlow as her soulmate.

"If you don't need it, why are you waiting for it?"

"Same reason you agreed that I could come. We need to be able to work together." Rumlow glanced at Natasha briefly before refocusing on Steve. "For what it's worth, I respect your leadership."

"I respect your skill." It was the truth- Rumlow had been a Navy SEAL (not that Steve had initially understood what that meant) and a good soldier - and Steve had no problems with the truth, even when it hurt. "It's trusting you I'm having problems with."

"Then don't," Rumlow countered. "I'll go do this because I like Ms. Potts. When I get the intel we need, then you can trust me."

"Or start to," Steve murmured.

"Or start to," Rumlow agreed.

It was a reasonable suggestion, and Steve blew out a breath. "All right."

Was it his imagination, or did Rumlow actually relax, however fractionally, at his agreement? Steve filed that observation away to think about later, and said, "Nat, get photos of anyone of interest so Skye can run them through facial recognition."

"Will do." Natasha uncurled from where she'd been sitting and joined her soulmate at the cargo area.

Now that the decision was made, Steve wished he could relax as he usually did when he'd done all he could and the outcome was out of his control, but that contentment eluded him this time. Rumlow was in the mix now, someone he didn't know well and trusted less, and Steve could only hope that this decision wouldn't backfire.

#

Skye had felt almost invisible while Steve discussed the mission with Black Widow and Rumlow. She wasn't an undercover operative - hell, she barely qualified as a field operative - and she knew she had other valuable skills, but in the middle of planning a mission that didn't require those skills, it was hard not to feel useless as well as invisible.

Then Steve had mentioned running facial recognition on the people Rumlow would meet on assignment, and Skye felt like a part of the team again. She had no idea how long the feeling would last, but she'd enjoy it while she could.

Now, a couple of hours later, still night but not too far from dawn, Skye watched with Steve as the other two hefted backpacks onto their shoulders, preparing for the trek back to Ternopil and the Ten Rings.

"Not going to tell me to be careful?" Natasha asked.

"Why waste my breath?" Steve grinned in return.

One corner of Natasha's mouth twitched upward before she sobered. "We'll send back what we get as soon as we can."

Steve nodded an acknowledgment, and then the other two were gone.

"Should we have told them to bring us back pizza?" Skye asked. "Or whatever passes for fast food here. Pierogis, maybe?"

Steve chuckled. "Hard to do, when we have no idea how long they'll be. This could take a while."

Skye understood the implications of that observation, even if Steve seemed oblivious. She swallowed and fought to keep her voice normal when she said, "So what do we do while we wait? Play cards?"

"If we do, it'll have to be a game that doesn't involve bluffing."

She'd added the suggestion as a joke, but still Skye thought she shouldn't be surprised that he'd followed it, giving them a few more minutes of conversation before the situation got awkward. "What's wrong with bluffing?"

"Didn't you hear Nat? I'm a terrible liar, and that includes having the worst poker face known to man." Steve smiled - more at a memory, Skye thought, than at her - before adding, "If we'd played for real money during the war, the Commandos would've bled me dry."

"Isn't bleeding Captain America dry un-American?" Skye grinned back.

"I wasn't Captain America then, just Steve Rogers, a guy from Brooklyn."

That didn't sound right, Skye thought. "You're saying all those history books are wrong? The ones that say you were Captain America before you went overseas?"

"I was Captain America - the costume, the bond rallies, the USO tours - in the States." Steve sounded firm on that point. "All that played really well for the civilians."

Skye understood. "Not so well with real soldiers, I guess."

"Not at all well," Steve agreed. "And yes, I wore the costume when I was on mission. But otherwise, I was just Captain Rogers, a mook from Brooklyn. Nothing special."

"I don't believe _that_ ," Skye said, and at his puzzled look, explained, "That you were nothing special. I'd bet Sergeant Barnes, at least, would disagree. Actually, I know Gabe Jones would."

"You met him?"

"Not exactly. His grandson's on my team." And Trip, Skye realized, would have an old-fashioned conniption fit once he found out she was soulmates with Captain America.

"Grandson." Steve shook his head before looking back up at Skye. "Still, I was just another soldier. A good one, maybe, and with enhanced abilities, but a soldier like them. Captain America made good press back home."

"But it was Steve Rogers who did the work," Skye finished.

"I'm still Steve Rogers."

There was an earnest tone in his voice that matched his expression, and Skye met his gaze without flinching. This was important, she knew. This mattered to Steve, probably more than anything else could. It mattered that his soulmate - that _she_ \- understood she was getting the man, not the symbol.

"Well, Steve." She turned to face him, rested a hand on his chest, felt his steady heartbeat through the flannel shirt he wore. "It occurs to me that we have some time to ourselves, and my soulmate hasn't kissed me yet."

His hands came to rest on her hips, large and warm through the jeans she wore. "Maybe he's concerned that if he starts, he won't stop."

"Maybe I don't want you to stop." Skye slid her hand up his chest to cup the back of his neck, applied the slightest pressure to encourage him to close the distance between them.

When he did, the kiss was soft but not hesitant, exploratory, and Skye let herself relax into it. Only - relax wasn't quite the right word, as heat built within her, and she pressed closer to Steve, fitting her body against his.

Steve's hands moved up from her hips, one to cradle her head, the other to press at the small of her back, as though he could bring her in any closer than she already was. He nipped at her lips with his own, then added the hint of teeth, and Skye didn't realize she'd moaned aloud until she heard his answering growl, felt it reverberate in his chest.

His chest, that was covered with too many layers of fabric.

Somehow, Skye managed to pull back without breaking the kiss, just enough to slip her hands between them to work the buttons on Steve's shirt.

His hands closed over hers, stilling them in place, as he tore his lips from hers. "The more of that you do, the closer to not stopping I'll be."

"I said I don't want you to stop," Skye told him, taking the opportunity to catch her breath.

"But -" Steve paused, and Skye thought he was searching for words to explain how he was feeling. "We're not -"

"Married?" Skye finished.

He nodded, once, and she thought he looked mildly embarrassed. _Oh. Of course. Traditional values._

"You're worth more than a - a tumble," he said, his voice raspy in a way that she suspected no one else had ever heard.

"Steve. Steve, listen to me. Okay?"

He nodded again, and met her eyes. Skye could read the indecision and the desire banked in them. She had to address both of those, she thought, unless she wanted to condemn them both to a very frustrating time.

"It's true that pretty much anything goes between people these days," she began. "And it's equally true that not everyone believes that's the best way to have a relationship. But that doesn't mean there's not a middle ground."

"How can there be?"

"Because we're soulmates."

"And that makes everything all right?"

"Aren't soulmates as much joined together by God as married people - more, even?" Skye asked. "Married people are joined by other people speaking for God, or the state. We're joined together by God or the universe or destiny, as evidenced by the words inscribed in our skin."

"I understand, but -" Steve hesitated. "Are you sure you're not pleading special circumstances, because it's what you want to do?"

"I'm sure," Skye told him. "Even the Pope said that sex between soulmates is not a sin."

That made Steve stare at her, and Skye had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing at his expression.

"He did? Who? When?"

"The Second Vatican Council, in the sixties. John the Twenty-Third."

Steve appeared to file that away. Skye had no doubt that he'd look it up later. What he said was, "Are you Catholic?"

"No, but the nuns at St. Agnes sure tried to make me. I got a lot of Church history and moral instruction from them."

"Huh." Steve considered her words, and Skye held her breath, wondering what conclusion he'd come to.

He held himself away, studying her, for a heartbeat, two, ten, and then he was kissing her again, deep and hungry, and Skye thought that maybe having decided doing this was okay, he'd further decided to give it all he had in the doing. Not that she was complaining, not with his tongue teasing hers, his teeth nibbling little bites along her bottom lip.

And then his hands, large and warm, slipped beneath her pullover top to stroke her spine, and Skye shivered and gasped his name.

"You're sure?" he murmured against her mouth.

In response, she ripped his shirt open.

Steve made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and then he was as busy undressing her as she was him. Boots, trousers, shirts, underwear all put aside so they could be skin to skin.

He was warm, Skye thought, and not just warm like any male. Warm like … like … like a super-soldier, she finally concluded when no other comparison seemed apt.

Then he tugged at her hands, and she followed a few steps until he sat in the co-pilot's seat that still faced the interior of the quinjet and drew her into the V of his thighs. She was only human - Skye glanced down, but his head blocked her view as his mouth closed around her nipple.

Skye didn't recognize the keening sound that came from her throat. She hadn't known she was capable of being so aroused she'd make unconscious noises, but being with her soulmate was different, better than any other sex she'd had - and he hadn't even touched her _there_ yet.

"Steve," she whispered. "Steve, _please_ touch me."

"Tell me when it's how you like it best," he murmured in return, and slipped his fingers between her legs, stroking, circling, exploring as he had when he'd first kissed her.

"Mmn." For long moments, Skye simply enjoyed the pressure of his touch. Then he found _that_ spot, and her breath caught. "There, Steve. _Yes._ "

Her awareness narrowed to that single point, that center of her pleasure that he brought to a tight coil. Then that point exploded, and she convulsed against him, gasping for breath.

His hands were at her hips, then, helping keep her steady on her feet, and Skye clutched at his shoulders while the world returned to focus.

When she looked at him again, he was smiling.

Skye leaned forward, bending to kiss the smile off his face, and was rewarded when she pulled back and saw his dazed expression.

"My turn," she whispered, and reached down to stroke him.


	5. Chapter 5

Later, Steve cradled his soulmate in his lap, her head resting on his shoulder as he drew lazy abstract patterns on her back with his fingertips.

Skye purred under his touch, and he'd thought he was spent, but that low thrumming noise traveled straight to his groin, and he tensed with the wanting. He'd never wanted anyone as much, as thoroughly, as he wanted Skye, and he could only hope he hadn't been too rough for her.

Not that she'd complained - quite the opposite, and Steve felt heat rising to his face again at the memory of just how enthusiastic Skye had been - but he was aware of his strength in ways most other people weren't, and there was a chance he'd lost control at least once while they were entwined.

Still, there was only one way to be sure.

"You okay?" he murmured against her hair.

"Mm-hm," she answered, a contented sound. Then she looked up at him. "You good with this? With what we did?"

"As long as I don't find out you're wrong about what the Pope said." Steve tried to keep his tone light, not wanting to taint what they'd shared with any hint of the guilt that had been part of his life for so long, but this was his soulmate, the person who would know him best, sometimes even better than he knew himself, and of course she sensed his concern.

"I wouldn't," she told him, her expression serious. "I would never manipulate you like that. No matter how much I want you."

"I believe you," he told her.

"Do you?" Skye searched his eyes. "Something made you say that."

Steve tried for a smile. "Just experience with others."

"Tell me?"

"I said before, I'm Steve Rogers. Not everybody understands that." Steve pulled her closer, her body soft and warm against his chest. "Some people see only Captain America, the symbol, and they want that symbol to represent what they believe is right."

"Regardless of what you think," Skye murmured.

"Sometimes."

He'd only thought he'd been a performing monkey during the war. Since he'd awakened in this new century, he'd found new depths of depravity called "celebrity culture." Oh, sure, people had always been interested in the doings of celebrities, but these days it seemed that everyone felt entitled to everyone else's time and attention, especially when those "everyone elses" were celebrities.

Thanks to Captain America, he was one of those celebrity everyone elses, and he'd gotten his share of fan mail. At first, he'd read it all, answering those letters from veterans or families of veterans who'd served with him or those who'd seen him at those truly horrible USO shows. Those letters, the ones that reminded him he had done what he set out to do – fight the bullies who were intent on remaking the world in their image – brought him an odd comfort.

It was the _other_ letters that got to him, the ones from people who not only wanted something from him, but _demanded_ it, whatever it was - an autograph or his presence at some event or other or his endorsement of a cause, charity, or political candidate he'd never heard of - without offering anything in return. Those were the letters that filled him with anger, an anger that lingered despite his best efforts and now made him suspicious of his soulmate.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she looked up at him, clearly confused, so he explained, "That I lumped you with them."

"I might deserve to be, sometimes," Skye said. "I'm only human."

"Fair enough," Steve said. "I still shouldn't have assumed, and I'm sorry I did."

Before Skye could respond, Steve's phone rang. Wrapping one arm more securely around Skye's waist, he leaned sideways to fish it from where it had fallen among their discarded clothes. A glance at the display had him straightening as he answered it.

"Nat?"

"Sorry to interrupt," Natasha said. "But Brock's made contact a lot sooner than we expected."

"What happened?"

"Chatted up an old bartender - maybe even as old as you."

"You're hilarious."

"I don't know the story Brock told him, but it wasn't long before the bartender gave a signal to some others in the bar, and it looks like Brock's got a job with Ten Rings. It's not permanent yet, that kind of organization tests potential recruits, but I'm sending photos for Skye through now."

"Check your phone," Steve said to Skye, and she nodded.

"Obviously he's starting small," Natasha continued. "But they need bodies – escorts for a fairly large caravan heading into Belarus and then Latvia."

"Any idea what they're carrying?"

"In this part of the world, probably drugs. Let me know what Skye finds out."

Then she ended the call and his phone as well as Skye's dinged to announce the arrival of the photos she'd sent. Steve glanced at the photos, didn't recognize any of the people in them, and sent Skye a questioning glance.

"I'll get started … as soon as I get dressed."

#

Getting started was really all she did, Skye thought, before the next call from Natasha. "No sense hanging around while Brock lays all the groundwork," she told them. "Go on back to the States, and I'll call when we have something solid."

Steve stared at the phone for a long time after Natasha ended the call. His expression edged between thoughtful and grim, which didn't suit him at all.

"What's wrong?" Skye asked when it looked like Steve wasn't going to move of his own accord. He looked up, and she must've read the answer in his eyes, somehow, because before she thought about it, she added, "You're concerned about Rumlow."

"Yes." Steve put his phone away. "I agreed to let him get this done because he likes Pepper. I just don't know how I'll face Bucky if this falls apart and Pepper's hurt as a result."

"Trusting him even though you don't."

"Something like that."

"I should tell you to have faith that it will all work out," Skye said, "but I'll point out that it's already done. You've made your decision, and now you have to live with it."

Steve blinked at her, clearly startled by her plain speaking. Then he gave her a rueful smile. "Is that what they call tough love?"

"More like Skye being bluntly honest. It doesn't always go over well."

"Don't ever stop." Steve sounded sincere, and Skye chuckled.

"Not likely," she said. Then, "Are we going back to the States?"

Steve blew out a breath. "We probably should. Nat's right, there's nothing we can do here until Rumlow gets into the organization deep enough that he can find the Mandarin. And you need to get back to your team."

That last was true, even though Skye wished it weren't. She'd questioned Ciprian Mitrea about Centipede and passed that information on to May. The next step would be to disrupt or destroy the Mandarin's supply of the serum, but they couldn't do that until said supply was found, and that was another part of the mission Rumlow had gone on with the Black Widow.

And Skye had to admit that even the regulation bunks at the Playground were more comfortable than the glorified cots on the quinjet. Still…

"What about us?"

Steve took her hand, met her gaze. "You sound like you don't expect more than what we've already had - which isn't much."

"I don't expect much," Skye admitted. "I learned not to, because every time I did, I was disappointed."

"Skye." Just her name, but so much sympathy in one syllable almost broke her.

She took a breath and looked up at him. "I even hoped I wouldn't meet my soulmate, because losing him, or having him reject me the way all those foster families did - I didn't think I could take that disappointment. I still don't."

Then his arms were around her, and she was snug in his arms. "I'm sorry you've hurt so much. And I'm sorry that I can't promise you'll never lose me. I might not come back from a mission someday, and that's just a fact of what I do."

"And what I do, too." Skye tilted her head back to look up at him. "Unless you think I should give it up?"

"Give it up? Why?" He frowned down at her, then his expression cleared. "Please don't tell me you think I'm stuck in a 1940's way of thinking?"

Skye had to laugh. "Not after what we did earlier, no. I just - we haven't really had a chance to talk or get to know each other. Neither one of us can know what the other expects or hopes for." She took a breath, and then added in a rush, "And now we're going to be separated and maybe not talk about it, and -"

"Even back in my day, they had telephones," Steve said. "We'll talk. I promise."

Skye believed him - if she couldn't believe Captain America, she couldn't believe anyone. As much as life had dealt her harsh blows, she didn't want to live however much she had left in constant suspicion and distrust.

"And maybe I can come to see you, sometime, when we're not on assignment," Skye offered tentatively.

Steve was quiet for a minute, and Skye feared she'd offended his sensibilities.

"I guess that's common now?" he asked finally.

"At least not uncommon," Skye said. "And the only people whose opinions I care about besides yours are your team and my team. I don't think any of them will have a problem with it."

Steve laughed - no, he actually snorted. "It's hard to imagine Tony Stark having a problem with much of anything."

"But you don't? Have a problem with meeting, sometimes?"

"I don't know if I'll ever be comfortable with all of the changes, and maybe I'll feel a little awkward doing things that wouldn't have been acceptable back then, but you're my soulmate, and I want to get to know you and build a life with you, whatever that takes. If anybody has a problem with that, they can go fly a kite."

It wasn't a declaration of love, more a promise to see what built between them, but still warmth spread through her, and Skye stretched up to kiss him.

The kiss was sweet and lingering, and when she had to pull back to breathe, Skye said, "Do you think we could put off heading back just a little longer?"

Steve groaned as she pressed her body against his. "Maybe a lot longer."

#

Bucky was waiting on the flight deck when Steve brought the quinjet in for a landing. The cockpit felt empty without Skye's presence next to him, and it was strange that he missed her so much when he barely knew her.

 _She's my soulmate. Maybe that explains it._ Steve shut off the engine and lowered the hatch as Bucky came around to meet him.

"Shouldn't you be with your soulmate?" Steve asked.

"Pepper's in a videoconference for a while. Figured it'd give you the chance to tell me what you didn't want to say in front of her."

"Am I that easy to read?" He still felt the need to ask even though he already knew the answer.

"Always have been," Bucky answered easily. "What's going on?"

"I met my soulmate."

Bucky made a show of peering into the quinjet. "And she's not with you? She on the other side?"

"No, she's with SHIELD. Or what's left of it. I dropped her off at her base."

"And you didn't want to say that in front of Pepper. Why?"

"Not Pepper," Steve said. "Tony."

"He's not gonna give you a shovel talk like he did me."

"No, but he'll go digging into her background, even if I tell him not to."

"You don't want to know?"

"I already do. It's not bad - we don't think it's bad," he corrected himself as they stepped onto the elevator. "It's just nothing."

"Nothing?"

"All she's found so far is one letter from SHIELD, heavily redacted. It basically says she was a healthy female baby when she was dropped off at an orphanage."

"Makes sense, I guess. Everybody knows everything about you, so nobody knows anything about her."

"That's about what I said." The elevator opened onto the common floor and Steve headed for the refrigerator. He wasn't jet-lagged, thanks to the super-soldier serum, but even a flight on the quinjet could be dehydrating.

"You can't keep it from the others forever," Bucky pointed out.

"I don't intend to." On the flight back from Ukraine, they'd talked about how to handle the Avengers meeting the remains of SHIELD. The only thing Skye had asked was that Steve introduce her to his team properly. Of course he'd agreed. Fortunately, they had a built-in reason for delaying it.

"Right now our focus has to be on taking down the Mandarin," Steve continued, and Bucky gave a short nod.

"Thanks," Bucky said. "For all of it."

"What are friends for?"


	6. Chapter 6

Six weeks later – six long weeks, if Steve were being honest, punctuated by video calls with Skye when possible, and text messages otherwise – Natasha's call came.

"We found him," she said. "And a base of operations big enough to be _the_ base for all of Ten Rings."

"We'll be wheels up in ten," Steve said. "Send me the coordinates where to meet you."

Natasha acknowledged and ended the call. Then Steve called Skye.

"Hey, you," she said. "What's up?"

"They've found the Mandarin."

"You guys want company?"

Steve grinned. "I was hoping you'd ask."

"Where should we meet you?"

"I'll forward the coordinates as soon as I get them," Steve promised. "Is it wrong that I'm looking forward to seeing you again when I should be planning a mission?"

"You're a super-soldier. You can do both," Skye teased. "See you soon."

"See you." Steve ended the call, then pressed the buttons that would summon the resident Avengers to the flight deck and started there himself. It would be good to have this all behind him, he thought, so he could focus on his soulmate.

#

Even before he'd gone into the ice, Steve had perfected the skill of sleeping on airplanes. Traveling from city to city for USO shows, and then the transatlantic flight that had taken him to the front, had taught him to block out the engine noise and fall asleep in extremely uncomfortable positions. At least the super-soldier serum meant the kinks in his neck and the stiffness in his joints wore off quickly.

That today's flight to Ukraine was supersonic only meant he'd gotten in a shorter nap before Clint's voice crackled through his earpiece.

"Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, Avengers all," the archer announced, "we are beginning our final descent into the middle of nowhere, Ukraine. Please ensure your fellow passengers are in their original awake and upright positions, and that your safety harnesses are securely fastened, because my co-pilot has a heavy hand on the stick."

"Because yours is light as a feather," Bucky's amused voice countered.

Clint continued as if Bucky hadn't spoken. "The local time is 2132 hours, and the temperature is too damn cold for a side trip to the beaches of Odessa. But then if you were looking for a pleasure trip, you picked the wrong quinjet."

Steve glanced over at Maria Hill. "Was I supposed to understand any of what he just said?"

Maria looked torn between shaking her head in exasperation and laughing aloud. "It's a parody of the standard speech flight attendants give when a plane comes in for landing. I guess you haven't flown many commercial flights."

"Not a one," Steve answered. "Between Stark's private jets, SHIELD transports, and now this, I haven't had that pleasure."

"Pleasure's probably too strong a word," Maria said. Then she called, "Hey, Barton, you're not nearly as funny as some of the flight attendants on Southwest."

"Yeah, well, I'm still practicing," Clint shot back. "Have to do something when I'm too old to draw a bow anymore."

Then they were sinking into a vertical landing, and Steve was on his feet, striding toward the hatch.

As the quinjet's hatch opened onto the Ukrainian night, Steve saw Natasha waiting for them. She glanced over the group - himself, Maria, Clint and Bucky. "No Tony?"

"No Tony," Steve confirmed. "Maria pointed out that this should be a discreet operation, and Tony is not always discreet."

Beside him, Bucky snorted. "That's too polite by half. He's never discreet. Neither was his dad."

"Also no Bruce," Maria added. "Same reason."

"Bruce is discreet," Clint argued. "Unless he turns green."

"We don't need to risk that, this time," Steve said.

"Six people isn't many to take down this kind of base," Natasha observed. "Even if Brock's working from the inside."

"It's not just six," Steve said. The sound of another engine drowned out whatever she might have said.

Minutes later, a second quinjet had settled – smoother than Clint's landing, Steve thought – beside their own. Its ramp descended to reveal Skye, Agent May, a black man Steve didn't recognize but who looked somehow familiar, and Agent Coulson.

"And then there were ten," Steve told Natasha, but she and Clint were stalking toward the other quinjet, murder in their eyes.

Skye and May closed ranks around Coulson, and Steve shot a concerned glance at Maria.

"Think they'll let him live?" Steve asked.

"Yes." But Maria didn't sound as certain as she could have.

"Who is he?" Bucky asked.

"He was their handler," Steve said. "Then he died just before the Battle of New York. His death brought the Avengers together."

"Looks pretty healthy for a dead man."

"He _was_ dead," Maria said. "How he's back is classified."

"Not for long, if I'm reading Natalia's expression right." Bucky studied the small group. "Barton doesn't look very happy, either."

"May will keep them in line," Maria said, and added under her breath, "I hope."

"Captain Rogers? Sergeant Barnes?"

Steve turned to see the black man who'd come with Skye approaching them. "Yes, Agent?"

"Triplett," the man said. "Antoine Triplett, but everybody calls me Trip. I just wanted to say that it's an honor to be fighting with you."

"And with you." Steve offered his hand. "You must be Gabe's grandson."

"Yes, sir," Trip shook his hand, turned to Bucky.

"Gabe Jones?" Bucky shook his head. "You mean he actually conned someone into marrying him?"

"As I understand it, Gran did the pursuing," Trip said.

"Gabe was a good man," Steve observed.

"Yes, he was," Trip said. "I just wish he were alive so _I_ could tell _him_ a story about you for once."

"Let's make a story for you to tell your grandkids," Steve said.

"And let's hope we're not still alive to fight with them, too," Bucky muttered. Steve had to echo the sentiment, but still he shot a glare at his friend. No sense damping Trip's excitement with the realities of their lives.

Then he saw that Skye was coming toward them, and he smiled at her, surprised when she walked straight up to him and gave him a quick kiss.

When she pulled back, she smiled up at him. "Hi."

"Hi," Steve said. She was as beautiful as he remembered, but he couldn't focus on her right now, much as he wanted to.

"You must be the soulmate," Bucky said.

"Skye." She offered her hand. "You must be the best friend."

"Bucky. Good to see you're keeping him on his toes."

"Natasha said he'd challenge me," Skye said. "I figure it's only fair for me to challenge him back."

"Challenge?" Steve frowned. When had that conversation taken place?

"More than fair," Bucky agreed.

Then the others were approaching, and Steve couldn't be just a guy hanging out with his friend and his soulmate any longer. Now he had to be Captain America.

#

Skye followed Clint Barton - Hawkeye; she was actually working with _Hawkeye_ \- across the grassy, tree-studded foothills of the Carpathian Mountains. In the pre-dawn, they made fast time toward the spot he'd chosen for their sniper's nest.

Not for the first time, Skye thanked whatever deities there might ever have been for Melinda May as her SO. Ward had trained her, but May _worked_ her harder than Skye would have believed possible, and now she was keeping up, if only just, with Hawkeye.

So when he stopped abruptly, she did, too, only she was heaving breaths in and out, thanks to the altitude while he wasn't breathing hard at all.

"Here," he said. "Good sight line, but plenty of cover."

He turned to survey the site below them. The castle dated from the Seventeenth Century, according to Skye's research, but the vehicles surrounding it were decidedly modern military transports.

"That's five, six hundred yards. You good with that?" Clint asked.

"I'd be a pretty lousy sniper if I weren't," Skye replied. "The longest recorded kill shot is twenty-seven hundred yards. You gonna be able to handle five hundred yards with a bow? That's close to the world record length, after all."

"With a standard compound bow," he corrected her with a grin. "There's nothing standard about mine. But I'm still gonna get closer. See that outcrop down there to the right?"

Skye had to step closer to him to follow where he pointed. "Yes."

"Just below that there's an open space. I'll set up there. Try not to shoot me in the back."

"Don't make me want to," Skye told him, and he laughed.

"You'll fit right in," he told her. Then he tapped his earpiece. "Comm check, alpha bravo gamma delta."

His voice echoed in her ear, and she responded, "Comm check, one fish two fish red fish blue fish."

"Was that supposed to make sense?" Steve's voice came through the comm.

"It's from a children's book," Skye replied. "Dr. Seuss?"

"I remember a Dr. Seuss during the war," Steve said. "Same guy?"

"With a name like that, it'd have to be," Bucky replied.

"It is," Coulson confirmed. "He wrote anti-isolationist tracts first, and later moved on to children's books that used odd rhymes and verse."

"Something else to add to your list," Skye told him. "But I have most of the books, so you're good."

"Everyone in position?" Steve asked.

A chorus of affirmatives answered him.

"Then let's do this," he said, and Skye pressed her eye to the scope of her rifle.


	7. Chapter 7

Much like standing on the deck of a SHIELD helicarrier, preparing for an assault on an enemy base felt familiar to Steve. This time, though, it wasn't Hydra that was the enemy but Ten Rings, and the base wasn't in Nazi Germany but in post-Soviet Ukraine.

Bucky at his side was also familiar, even though this team, SHIELD agents and Avengers, wasn't the Howling Commandos. It was a good team, regardless, and with any luck this mission would be over almost as soon as it began.

With no luck, though ….

With no luck, Rumlow was luring them all, even his soulmate, into a deathtrap.

Steve knew that scenario was unlikely - few people would willingly risk their soulmate's lives; to do so was to risk their own if they'd bonded and to ensure agonizing pain if they hadn't - but still the specter of it haunted him as he strode toward the Ten Rings base, Bucky at his left, Natasha at his right, and the rest of the team arrayed behind them.

He glanced down at Natasha, hoping for some reassurance, but blinked in surprise at the expression she wore. It could only be described as _vicious_ , and he hadn't seen her wear it before, not even in their most desperate fights.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"Did you know?" Her tone was as deadly as her expression, but that didn't mean Steve understood her. He never had and probably never would, even if they worked together until she was his age.

So he asked for clarification. "Did I know what?"

"That _he_ ," her head nodded almost imperceptibly behind them, and Steve marveled that even when she was so angry she was still so in control, "was still alive?"

"I heard rumors. Nothing specific. But given what happened to me, Bucky, Dr. Banner, even your soulmate - it's not that surprising, is it?"

She didn't answer, and Steve didn't know what else to say.

Then whoever was on watch saw them, and he had no time to say anything else.

#

As much as she understood the need for a rear guard, Skye couldn't listen to the chatter in her earpiece without wanting to be in the middle of the action or, more accurately, fighting side by side with her soulmate.

Still, given their combined sniper skills, she and Clint were the best choices for the rear guard. Well, maybe not the best, Skye corrected herself. The best would've been Bucky Barnes, who'd been a sniper during World War II, and only gotten better with those skills as the Winter Soldier. But he had simply planted himself beside Steve, silently daring the other man to assign him anywhere else.

Then Steve and the others came into view, and it was time for her and Clint to go to work, clearing the path for the rest of their team as they approached the Ten Rings stronghold.

"Upper left," she told Clint, and squeezed the trigger.

#

This was where Steve felt most at home - fighting an enemy he knew to be real and evil, not just going where he was told like that performing monkey he'd drawn so long ago.

Just like in the old days, Bucky was at his left, shooting almost in tandem with him at the enemy. To his right - maybe it wasn't Dum Dum Dugan or Jim Morita or Gabe Jones, but it was Gabe's grandson, and that, too, was right. The weapons might be a little more advanced, and the enemy a little less formidable, but this was familiar, and Steve couldn't help the grin that curled his lips.

Natasha's preference for hand-to-hand engagement, what was now called close quarters combat, today appeared to be fueled by her anger, and Steve actively pitied the men she chose to engage - even the one taking position to shoot her in the back.

He threw his shield, caroming it off that man, and into two more before it returned to his hand.

"I had him," Natasha's voice came through the comm.

"You're the one who taught me to hustle pool. That was a perfect bank shot."

"You can't actually hustle pool, can you?" Trip asked.

Bucky's snort was answer enough, but he elaborated, "Punk couldn't lie if his life depended on it _before_ the serum, let alone now."

"That may not be an advantage in this line of work." Melinda May spoke from where she was taking down the last of the defenders before the gate.

"That's why I leave the spying to Nat. Clear?"

"Clear," four other voices answered.

A fifth, Coulson's, said, "Clear the door. Fire in the hole."

Steve turned aside as Coulson fired the weapon - a modified rocket propelled grenade - and a moment later, the fortress door had been destroyed, with minimal damage to the rest of the structure.

Steve glanced back at Coulson. "Nice."

Coulson, oddly out of place in combat fatigues instead of his usual dark suit, wore an expression of regret. "I'll have to donate to a historical preservation society. It's a shame to destroy something that's stood so long."

It wasn't the first instance of modern values Steve didn't know how to respond to, but it was the first that came from a battle comrade, and he could only clap a hand on Coulson's shoulder.

"Don't worry, DC," Skye's voice came through the comm. "We'll figure a way."

"We always do," Coulson said, and then he was back to being the imperturbable agent.

Steve adjusted his shield and strode forward, Bucky, Coulson, and Trip falling into place behind him. Not surprisingly, Natasha, Maria and May had already slipped inside.

"Better hurry, or they won't leave anything for the rest of you slackers to do." Clint sounded amused.

"Can't have that, can we?" Steve asked. "Let's go."

#

"This is the hardest part," Clint's voice came through Skye's comm, and she suspected he'd shifted to a private channel.

"I know."

For a moment, Skye wished she and Steve had already bonded so she'd _know_ whether he was all right. But they hadn't, and so she could only draw on her training, and offer a silent prayer to the God the nuns told her always had a plan.

 _You're alike that way_ , she thought, _so please keep him safe._

#

The main difference between the Nazis he'd fought in the '40's and the Ten Rings terrorists he fought today, Steve decided, was organization.

He'd sat through enough security briefings at SHIELD that he understood terrorist organizations were loosely organized into cells, small groups that each knew only a handful of other groups, so the organization itself would survive if any given cell were compromised.

Steve hadn't expected that looseness of organizational structure to translate so directly to looseness of command response, but in this case, it most definitely had, and so Natasha and May had taken down a half-dozen hostiles by the time Steve and the others cleared the remains of the doorway.

"Save some for the rest of us." Bucky sounded amused.

"Pull your weight, slowpoke," Natasha shot back, sending a bulky man twice her mass to his knees with a stinger to his throat.

"If you insist." Bucky squeezed off three shots in rapid succession, and three defenders fell.

With barely a glance between them, Bucky and Steve charged forward, past the initial, ragged and quickly shattering, line of defense. This really was just like the war, and for a moment, Steve could let himself believe nothing had changed.

Then light glinted off Bucky's cybernetic hand as he tossed a smoke grenade further into the castle, and Steve pressed his lips together. There was no clearer sign that things - that everything - had changed than that.

A bullet singing past his ear reminded him of just where he was, and he flung the shield in the direction the shot had come from, only to see the man who'd fired it collapse before the shield could hit him.

Steve glanced over, saw Rumlow fading back into the shadows.

 _Huh._

There was no time for any deeper thought about that, not with Ten Rings finally realizing they were under attack and doing what they could to regroup and counter-attack.

Not that it did them much good, Steve thought wryly. They had to fall back, and back, and further back

And then it was as familiar as the war – the slow, steady march forward, the elimination of hostile opponents, securing those who surrender, and the grim satisfaction as the job was done. Steve took no pleasure in this, just as he had taken no pleasure in Nazi Germany so many years ago according to the calendar, only a few months ago according to his memory.

At some point, his work undercover done, Rumlow fell in with them, flanking Natasha, his shots as steady and true as the others'. Steve gave Rumlow a nod that he hoped conveyed thanks for the man saving his life, earlier. Rumlow nodded back, and then they were both focused once more on the task at hand.

It felt like hours but it was probably only fifteen minutes or so before the SHIELD/Avengers team had forced the defenders into a single room, the heart of the castle. With Bucky and Rumlow flanking him, Steve stepped into the doorway, shield raised for protection.

A hundred men faced them, and Steve cursed himself for a fool.

 _Of course they'd fall back to protect the Mandarin. He wouldn't leave himself vulnerable._

Steve shoved the anger aside, surveyed the scene before him.

In the center of the room stood a man who could only be the Mandarin – as tall as Steve, almost as muscular as Thor, inky black hair falling past his shoulders.

"You think you've won," he said, his voice rich and deep, "because you've reached the heart of the castle? You've only come into the jaws of death. The Ten Rings will de-"

Whatever else the Mandarin might have said was cut off by the resounding _crack_ of a rifle shot and the snap of his head backward and forward again, and as he collapsed, Steve could see the dark hole in the center of the Mandarin's forehead.

For a moment, everyone in the room, Avengers, SHIELD, and Ten Rings alike stood frozen, staring at the body on the floor.

Then, almost as one, the Mandarin's henchmen laid down their weapons and rested their hands on their heads.

"Well," Rumlow said. "That was anticlimactic."

Steve turned to look behind them, where the shot had come from, and saw Skye lowering her rifle. Beside her, Clint held his bow loosely.

"No," Steve said. "That was perfect." Perfect that his soulmate, who'd brought them to the Mandarin in the first place, had been the one to bring him down in the end.

"Perfect," Bucky muttered. "Except we still have to clean up the rest of this mess."

Steve shared a quick smile with Skye before turning back to the others. "Then let's get started."


	8. Chapter 8

After the prisoners were disarmed, cleanup consisted mostly of Skye contacting the Ukrainian authorities and Interpol to let them know what had happened. They didn't want to pay much attention to a young girl, but once Steve identified himself, they were only too happy to take the remnants of the Ten Rings into custody.

"Get used to it," Coulson told Steve while they coordinated loading the prisoners. "In some parts of the world, who you know or who you are count for more than they should."

As he watched the trucks - prison vans for the live terrorists; refrigerated trucks for the dead - lumber away, Steve decided that was something he'd never get used to. But it was also something he didn't have to dwell on just now.

Steve turned away from the departing trucks, scanning the area for Skye. He saw her deep in conversation with Coulson and May, and tamped down the urge to go to her, to reassure himself that they were both still alive. There'd be time - and privacy - for that later.

He surveyed the rest of their group, and his gaze landed on Rumlow and Natasha talking quietly with Clint outside the quinjet.

That was one bit of personal bookkeeping he could take care of now, he decided, and crossed the small clearing to the trio. They fell silent as he approached and offered his hand to Rumlow.

"Thanks," he said. "For the help, and for the save, earlier."

"Yeah, well." Rumlow took his hand. "This time it was personal."

Steve looked startled, then laughed. "In that case, I'll look forward to working with you again."

"I'm available," Rumlow said.

"Are you available now?" Coulson's mild question made Steve turn to see that the SHIELD agents had joined them.

"I could be," Rumlow replied. "What do you need?"

"There's an 084 out there," Coulson said, "and we're trying to track it down. Since nobody knows you're not Hydra anymore, your contacts could be helpful."

"And we have a prisoner who can be difficult," May added.

"That's Nat's purview," Rumlow said, but May shook her head.

"He won't talk to her. He was one of ours - and Hydra."

Rumlow glanced at Natasha, and Steve could almost _feel_ the unspoken communication between them. Then Natasha spoke.

" _We're_ available," she told Coulson, then looked at Steve. "Until the Avengers assemble again."

Steve nodded agreement and resolved to ask Clint what an 084 was.

"In that case," Skye's voice held only the faintest hint of nerves, "maybe I can take a brief leave of absence?"

She stepped closer to Steve, and as she slipped one arm around his waist, he rested his arm on her shoulders.

"Two for one," he said. "And one of those the Black Widow. Seems like a fair trade, Director."

Coulson hesitated only a moment. "More than fair. But only until we find that 084."

Rumlow smirked. "We'll work slowly."

"Not too slowly," Coulson said, a warning in his tone.

"Of course not," Natasha said, but the look she gave Steve told him she'd give him as much time with his soulmate as she could.

Steve smiled down at Skye, then looked at Bucky and Clint. "Let's go home."

#

The gentle stroking of fingers along her hairline roused Skye from sleep. She blinked, even against the dim light of the quinjet's interior.

"Thought you might want to see the skyline," Steve said quietly.

"Skyline?" Skye straightened in her seat, rolling her neck and shoulders to ease the tightness from her awkward position against his side.

"We're almost home." He gestured forward, toward the windscreen at the pilot's compartment, and even from this angle, Skye could see the lights of New York.

The view drew her out of her seat, and she moved to stand behind and between Clint and Bucky for a better view.

The skyline at night took her breath away. "Oh."

"Only got a few minutes before we land," Bucky said. "Look fast."

"Or you could give her your seat," Clint said.

"I could?" Bucky sounded amused.

"What's the point of having a stealth aircraft if you can't use it to keep secrets occasionally?" Clint asked, and Skye wondered if she was supposed to understand the question.

Bucky apparently understood it, because he was unfastening the seat harness. He levered himself out of the seat and gestured Skye to take his place. Once she was seated, he quickly re-secured the harness, adjusting it for her smaller frame.

"Enjoy the view," he told her, then moved back to the rear compartment where Steve sat.

For a moment, Skye did just that. She'd grown up here, and the city would always be as close as she had to a home, but she'd never seen it from the air before, much less seen it as it was now, millions of lights one on top of the other, a jewel against the dark sea they flew over.

Then she had to glance at Clint. "Is this where you impart some worldly wisdom to the new girl?"

Clint chuckled. "No, that's Nat's style, not mine. The view's wasted on Barnes, but I never get tired of it. It's good to have someone to enjoy it with."

Skye studied him another moment, decided that either he meant it or he was going to try to blindside her with his real purpose, and whichever it was, she should enjoy the view.

That was easy enough to do, she thought, drinking in the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, pointy silhouettes against the blockiness of the rest of New York. And then there was the Tower.

In their world, there was only one Tower in New York, whether it went by Stark Tower or Avengers Tower, and it loomed in the near distance, appearing larger and larger as Clint guided the quinjet home. Skye had heard that Steve had called it ugly once, but to her it had an oddly sinuous grace in its design and she found she couldn't look away from it, even as Clint brought the quinjet in for a smooth landing.

"Here we are," Clint said. "Home sweet home."

Skye released her harness and slipped out of her seat. Clint waved absently, but he was focused on telling the ground crew - which seemed to consist of more robots than actual people - just to refuel, because as soon as his slowpoke passengers disembarked, he was taking off again.

Steve was waiting for her at the top of the ramp, and he offered her his arm like the gentleman he was.

"Bucky's off to see Pepper," he said. "Did you want a tour?"

"Only if said tour begins or ends at a place I can shower and change," Skye said.

"There are plenty of guest quarters," Steve said, and Skye glanced at him dubiously, then had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

His ears had flushed pink, and his expression revealed just how valiantly he was trying to remain totally polite.

"Your place will do," she said, and it was only partly to see his reaction.

She wasn't disappointed. His face flamed, and he ducked his head as if to hide it. Even so, he still guided her to the elevator.

"It's okay, Steve," she said when the doors closed. "I'll take guest quarters if you'll be more comfortable."

"I'll get comfortable with modern standards when it comes to you," Steve declared, and Skye was certain it was a vow. "JARVIS, I'd like you to meet Skye, agent of SHIELD."

"We've met, Captain."

Skye thought the British-accented tone coming from speakers concealed in the elevator sounded familiar, frowned as she tried to place it.

"You have?" Steve sounded surprised - no, stunned.

"She tried to hack my systems not too long ago."

Ah, that's why the voice was familiar. Skye grinned at the memory, only to look up into Steve's disappointed expression.

"It was a bet," she said quickly, "with Tony Stark."

Disappointment shifted to confusion. "When did you meet Tony?"

"He helped us out a while back," Skye said, deliberately vague.

"It was while you and Lieutenant Wilson were searching for Sergeant Barnes, Captain," JARVIS explained. "An unofficial request for assistance."

"Oh." Clearly, Steve was still confused. Just as clearly, he chose to set it aside. "She's also my soulmate, JARVIS. Please give her full access to my quarters and the common areas."

"Done, Captain. And congratulations."

"Thanks," Steve said.

"If there is anything you require, Agent Skye, please let me know."

"A change of clothes, maybe?" Skye said.

"Shall I have them sent to your quarters, Captain?"

"That's up to Skye."

"That'll be fine," she said. "If it's okay with you."

"My quarters it is, JARVIS." Steve smiled at her, and she felt herself growing warm at the promise in his eyes.

Later, Skye would be embarrassed to admit just how little she remembered of the tour Steve gave her. There were labs, a gym or three, quarters for support staff, the flight deck, and three floors of living quarters for the Avengers, plus an entire floor dedicated to common spaces like a living room, kitchen, dining area and game room.

Thanks to an odd mix of fatigue and excitement at being with her soulmate again, those areas all melded into a blurry impression of, "As homelike as state of the art technology can get."

Somewhere during that tour, JARVIS had reported that the _standard wardrobe_ for female guests had been delivered to Steve's quarters. Skye just hoped they'd fit.

"Last stop," Steve said, finally, and the elevator doors opened onto what might have been a corridor in any luxury apartment building in the city. He led her down the hallway to a door, pressed his palm against a scanner inset in the wall where a doorbell might go, and the door slid open.

Steve propped his shield on the floor beside the door, then gestured down a short hallway. "Bedroom and bathroom are down there."

Skye swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. "Y'know, the environmentalists have a saying that seems to be appropriate."

"What's that?"

"Save water. Shower with a friend." Skye looked up at him. "Or soulmate, in this case."

"Sounds efficient," Steve said.

Only it wasn't, because instead of simply getting clean, they spent the shower getting to know each other again. Skye was surprised when that turned out to be more sensual than sexual, the exploration of bodies with soap-slicked hands, long sluicing strokes to lather up and then rinse off punctuated with occasional kisses to lips, cheeks, or other available body parts.

Then Steve's fingers found his words on the outside of her thigh, traced them, and she shivered despite the hot water raining down on them. "Steve."

"Skye." He bent his head, kissed the words inscribed on her skin, and heat zinged through her, her inner muscles clenching involuntarily.

 _I want to bond with you._ The words formed in her mind, but she couldn't say them aloud, not yet. They - she and Steve - were still too new, strangers more than friends, for her to trust that desire was real, not just some sexual impulse gone awry.

Steve dropped another, lighter, kiss to her words, then stood, reaching behind her to turn off the shower.

"Even this place'll run out of hot water eventually," he said. But Skye couldn't mourn the loss of hot water much, because Steve pulled an oversized fluffy towel from the nearby rack and proceeded to pat her dry with a gentleness that bordered on reverence.

When he was done, he wrapped the towel around her and pulled her close.

"What now?" Skye asked, hating how young and insecure the question came out.

"We can get dressed and find food," he suggested, and she couldn't help laughing.

"I am hungry," she confessed.

"But that's not what you meant, is it?"

"Not really. Or not completely." Skye looked up at him. "I still have trouble believing that I've found my soulmate, and I don't want to lose you."

"Neither of us can make that promise, given what we do. But I do promise you'll never lose your place in my heart."

"Even if it doesn't work?" Skye asked. Beneath that simple question were all the fears she couldn't voice. _It never works, I'm never good enough, I'll never_ be _good enough._

"Even if," Steve assured her. "But I'm confident it'll work if we want it to and we make the effort."

"Will you? Make the effort, I mean?"

"I will." And he looked down at her with such intense sincerity that her throat tightened and she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

"I will, too," she said, or tried to say. She wasn't certain any sound actually emerged from her throat, but even if it hadn't, Steve smiled as if it had.

"Then we'll make it work."


	9. Chapter 9: Coda

Think of this as the post-credits scene…

When the door to Vault D opened, Grant Ward tried to keep his pulse steady. It wasn't easy to do when just the thought of seeing Skye again could send both his pulse and his breathing into overdrive. Still, he wanted to be composed when she saw him, so he focused on calming his heartrate first.

But …

Something was wrong. The tread on the stairs was too heavy to be hers. Grant stood, moved to the edge of the cell to get a better view of his visitor. Combat boots, too large for most women, and camo fatigues over them.

"I only talk to Skye," Grant declared and turned away from whoever approached to emphasize the point.

"Then you'll be quiet a long time," a rough male voice answered, one that Grant found familiar but couldn't quite place.

Grant waited for the speaker to continue, but whoever it was understood that tactic as well as he did, because he stayed silent. Finally, it was as much curiosity as to who else Coulson would let into the Vault as it was Grant's desire to know more about Skye that made him turn around.

He recognized his visitor immediately, though they'd never worked together. "Rumlow."

"Ward." Brock Rumlow, former commander of SHIELD's STRIKE team, nodded a greeting.

Grant studied the other man in silence. They were both Hydra - how in the hell had Rumlow gotten into the Playground, much less the Vault? More to the point, would talking to Rumlow be good for him or not?

Rumlow strolled over to the control panel, tapped in a few commands. "It's just us now, all alone, no prying eyes."

Grant couldn't help snorting. "You're not my type."

"Makes us even." Rumlow studied him in turn.

Finally, not knowing became too much. "Why'd you say I'm going to be quiet for a while? Has -" he swallowed once, twice, before starting again. "Has something happened to Skye?"

"She's on TAD," Rumlow answered.

"Temporary duty?" Grant frowned. "What kind of temporary duty?"

"Trade you an answer for an answer," Rumlow said.

Grant scowled at him, then nodded once. He'd heard about STRIKE team, and Rumlow in particular. Probably best to have the conversation, and keep it as civil as possible.

"I've already given you one, so your turn." Rumlow rested a foot on the chair beside the control panel. "Do you know anything about an 084 referred to as the Obelisk?"

"Yes. Your turn. What kind of temporary duty?"

"Avengers liaison. Do you know where it is?"

"No. Why is she on TAD?"

"Something to do with her soulmate."

Grant's snarl escaped before Rumlow could ask his next question. "I'll kill him."

Rumlow laughed. "Good luck with that."

Grant glared at him through the inertial confinement laser barrier. "You don't think I'll be in here forever, do you?"

"Question out of turn, but I'll give you that one. It doesn't matter. Even if you get out, you can't kill him."

Rumlow's certainty surprised him. "What makes you say that?"

"I couldn't. The entire STRIKE team couldn't. You're good, Ward, but you're not our level of good."

That it wasn't a boast, just a statement of fact, didn't make the assessment any less annoying. It did, however, raise a very important question.

"Who's her soulmate?"

"Two questions down, but I'll save those for later. I doubt you'll be in the mood to talk after I answer that one."

Ward slammed his fist against the barrier, not caring when his hand stung with the contact. _"Who's her soulmate?"_

"Captain Steven Grant Rogers. Also known as Captain America."


End file.
